


How to Write a Love Scene

by MsMxyzptlk



Category: Alex Wolff - Fandom
Genre: Alex Wolff - Freeform, Creativity, Dammit I Want This, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Romance, Strong Language, The Boyfriend Experience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 17:33:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9559772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsMxyzptlk/pseuds/MsMxyzptlk
Summary: We should all experience this at some point in our lives.





	

I had done everything right.

I had brought myself to this indie coffee shop in New York City that was just a little bit too cool for school, offering cold brew and slow drip and something called “heart bean” coffee which cost $10 just for one cup. (I didn’t try it.) The floor-to-ceiling windows allowed people to look in to see how hip you were, but kept the sounds of the city out. Not that either of these benefits were helping me right now.

I leaned back, at least as much as I could in one of the brushed aluminum chairs that surrounded the big, thick, rough-hewn wooden table in the middle of the shop. The virgin white page of my Microsoft Word document – still named “Document 1” – stared at me from my laptop, challenging me, mocking me.

I had come all the way to this place to fill this white page – and many more – and what I had was nothing.

The more I stared into that reproachful white box, the more agitated I got.

I was so proud of the story that was the basis of this screenplay.

I loved both of the main characters as if they were my dear friends.

I wanted to write a screenplay that Colin would be honored to make a film out of.

I wanted, more than anything, to write a love scene that this couple richly deserved, that would make the audience gasp in delight, and weep in hopes that it would happen to them someday.

Why the hell couldn’t I make it happen?

I shoved myself away from the table and the laptop and the unforgiving white box.

_“Fuck!”_

Suddenly, I felt my body grow increasingly and alarmingly horizontal.

I’d pushed so far that my aluminum chair – and me inside of it – was falling to the floor.

Before I could scream, something came between my back and the floor. That something was a strong and steady human arm.

I looked up into the face of the person the arm belonged to.

He gazed down at me with the biggest, darkest, and most concerned eyes I had ever seen outside of anime.

“Are you okay?” he asked in a cracked, anxious voice.

“I am...now that you caught me.”

He helped me stand back up. I turned to get a better look at him. The dude was a tallish young man with olive skin, tousled curly dark brown hair, and a slight five-o-clock shadow that didn’t hide a mole above the left edge of his mouth.

He was dressed for the night, in a black leather jacket, black jeans that clung hard to his slender legs, and short black leather boots. His jacket was open, and I could see a white T-shirt with the overripe banana that was on the cover of the first Velvet Underground album.

I was grateful that he came between me and the concrete floor...but I was also kind of embarrassed that he had seen one of my worst moments. This was _not_ the kind of guy you wanted to have seen your failure at humanity.

“Thanks for...” I almost said saving, but that sounded melodramatic. “...catching me.”

“You’re welcome.” He put his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “What did you just see on your laptop – the Slenderman?”

“Hmmm? Oh!” I looked down at the Word page, still as blank as ever. “It’s something much worse – a blank page.”

He looked down at my laptop. “What do you want to go on there?”

“A scene from my screenplay.”

He arched his thick eyebrows.

“You’re a screenwriter?”

“If I finish this thing.”

I sucked my lower lip into my mouth. I wanted to vent about my writer’s block – but that meant dumping my problems on this cute guy that I’d just met.

_He seems nice – he kept me from hitting the floor, after all – but as one of my old girlfriends said, you don’t show a guy your shit too soon._

“I know that feeling. That feeling when creative projects get stuck in ‘if.’ I wrote a screenplay, too.”

“You did?”

“Yup. I know how fucking scary that blank white page is – a page that’s laughing its ass off at you, like a middle school bully.” His voice suddenly lurched into the kind of nails-on-chalkboard voice that most such bullies had. “You can’t do this, you dumbass. You can’t write shit. You suck big green donkey dicks.”

I cringed. He had that critical voice down.

“Whoops – sorry. You looked scared for a minute.”

“I am scared.”

I sat back down in my chair. He pulled up another chair and sat down next to me. I took a deep breath to tell the whole story. At this point, I couldn’t help it.

“A few years ago, I wrote a short story – actually, more of a novella – about two people traveling through space on their cargo ship. An Earth-human woman and a young man from an enigmatic race, with black hair and eyes.”

_Almost like you._

“When it was done and edited, I sent it to every place where it might belong. Long story short, it got published in _Asimov’s Science Fiction_ last month.”

“Congratulations!” He raised his hand for a high-five. I gave it to him – and my palm tingled after that brief touch of skins.

“Then, a filmmaker named Colin e-mailed me out of the blue. He wants to make a film out of the story. It’s not going to be a big budget – it doesn’t have to be, it just takes place on a ship – and I volunteered to write the screenplay because I know these characters best. Well...it’s almost done. Except for the last scene, where the two of them make love for the first time. In the story, I described it in one sentence – ‘they created a universe of their own inside their little ship, and it glimmered as brightly as the one outside.’

“That’s not good enough for Colin. He doesn’t want to see glimmer, he wants to see bodies colliding. ‘I’m not making a PG-13 joint,’ he said. But...I’m not good at writing such scenes.”

The punchline I didn’t add: I wasn’t good at living such scenes, either.

“You’ve been trying and trying, huh?” 

“I came down to New York City from Hudson for a week so I wouldn’t be distracted by home life. It did me good – except for this one last scene.”

I ran my fingers through my hair furiously.

“I love this story. I love these characters. I want them to have the best sex ever. But I don’t know how the hell to make it happen.”

“Are you on deadline?”

“Colin said that he wanted it as soon as possible.”

“As soon as possible could mean as soon as possible for you. Did he give a date?”

“No...”

“Then you still have some time. It looks like you’re trying to push it out before it’s ready. That’s not going to help.” He stroked the hairs on his chin. “Maybe it’s time to step back from it. Look at other people’s art. Sometimes you have to feed your head with good stuff and digest it before good stuff can come out of you again.” He grimaced. “Sorry, that was a gross metaphor.”

“But it’s true.”

“By the way, I’m Alex.” He extended his hand. “Should have introduced myself before I laid all that advice on you.”

I shook his hand – again, secretly thrilling to us touching – and gave my name.

“You’re not wrong.” I turned to the blank Word page. “This will still be here when I am ready for it.” I closed Word, and it collapsed into its little square on my taskbar. “So...you say you wrote a screenplay?”

“Not only that, I’m the star and director. Want to see it?”

“Sure.”

“It’s on YouTube. Don’t worry, it’s short.”

He used my small wireless mouse (which I preferred to the touchpad) and took us to YouTube and his film. It told the story of one young man’s night in the city, where he traveled from the disillusionment of lost love to the realization that yes, he had plenty of life to live. I thought it was superb.

“That was superb, Alex. Thanks for showing me this.”

“You’re welcome. When you’re making films, you gotta be part salesman.”

“You are young,” I said, echoing his final lines from the movie.

“ _We_ are young,” he replied, smiling.

“Nah, I’m not so young anymore.” My eyebrows sank in a self-depreciation spiral. “I’m twenty-three.”

“That’s totally okay.”

“How old are you?”

“I’m nineteen.”

I almost thought, _You’re a fetus_ , but Alex didn’t look like a fetus at all. He looked like a man.

A man I could spend days with.

Days. Weeks. Years.

_Get a hold of yourself. You’ve just met him._

“So...are you planning to make more of your own films?”

“Yup. But not too quickly. I gotta write the script, and an actor is only as witty as the person who puts words in his mouth.”

He laughed, and his warbling young voice made me want to put words in his mouth. Three in particular. Maybe two.

“Hey...why don’t you put some words in my mouth?”

_Uh, oh. Not those three, and certainly not those two!_

“Hmmmm...ummmm...”

At the moment I really needed it, a line from a comment I read on Jezebel (not on a writing forum, alas):

“I can’t be arsed?” I pronounced “arsed” the way it was spelled.

“Hey. That’s a good one.” Alex feigned an indifferent look. “Ohhh...” He waved his hand in an exaggerated manner. “I can’t be _arsed_.” His British accent was impeccable.

“That is such a handy term. It can be used in so many situations.” I cleared my throat and channeled my most pretentious professor. “I can’t be arsed to think that ‘Game of Thrones’ is anything more than grimdark bullshit masquerading as art.”

“Wow.” Alex raised his eyebrows. “Somebody finally said it!”

“Yeah.” I smiled with no small pride.

“I can’t be arsed to give a shit about people judging me for saying _Ace Ventura_ is dope.”

Now he got it.

“I can’t be arsed to eat one more stalk of kale,” I added, quite honestly.

“I can’t be arsed to change my jeans every day.”

“I can’t be arsed to give a damn about anyone who appears on the cover of _Us_ Magazine.”

“I can’t be arsed to get a new phone.”

He showed me his iPhone 6. A tiny crack cut through one of the corners.

“That’s where the spirit comes in,” I reassured. “Through the imperfections.”

“I got plenty of those.”

_And I’m ready to adore them all._

“I can’t be arsed...to say I can’t be assed. Doesn’t sound quite right that way.”

“Are you _sure_ you’re suffering from writer’s block?”

Alex’s laughter tickled my spirit...but didn’t solve my problem.

“Yeah.” I covered my forehead with my hand. “I’m not blocked, except for the writing that matters most to me right now.”

“As I said, chill. Writer’s block is universal. Any writer who says it doesn’t happen to them is either lying, plagiarizing, or just plain sucky.”

“Well. That’s a good way to think about it.”

“Now let’s feed our heads.”

We sat at the table, looking at our “liked” YouTube videos and laughing and talking. Mostly the latter two.

How long had it been since I’d just had a good time with a guy, without worrying about how I was coming off? How long had it been since I was totally comfortable talking in person with anyone? How long had it been since it felt so easy, so pure?

Our hands were so close on the table.

_What would he do if I tapped his pinky with mine? What if..._

Before I could even rustle up the courage to do it, one of the baristas walked toward the door and turned the OPEN sign over to CLOSED.

“Closing time,” he told us.

“Oh, shit. It’s midnight already?” Alex turned his head towards the door.

“Yup. You don’t see the little numbers in the corner of your laptop?”

“No.” _I’ve been too busy looking at Alex._

“Come on. Let’s take this party elsewhere.”

I turned off my laptop and put it away in its carrying bag. Alex helped me up off of my seat.

It had been drizzling on and off all day, but when we got to the door, the rain started coming down. I opened my small red umbrella, which could barely cover one head, much less two. Alex took the umbrella from me and held it up over us.

“I know a neat 24-hour café car about five blocks from here,” he said. “Wanna go?”

“Yeah. Five blocks is doable.”

Five blocks was doable, true. _When_ wind and rain weren’t attacking so hard that they made my little umbrella whip back and forth like a gym towel in the hands of a bully.

“Holy fuck,” cried Alex.

I looked at the other side of the street, and saw the hotel that I was staying at. I’d forgotten it was this close to the coffee shop.

“There’s where I’m staying,” I said, loudly enough to break through the wind. “It has a 24-hour café, too. And it’s much closer.”

“All right.”

We huddled under the umbrella as we waited for the light to change. When it did, we nearly got run over by an overeager cab, and Alex let out an epic curse:

“Green donkey-dick-sucking mother- _fucker_!”

I couldn’t help but laugh. He did, too.

“Gotta save that for special occasions.”

We hurried inside the lobby of the hotel. Alex closed my little umbrella and shook it on the large, geometrically designed rug.

“Where’s the café?” he asked.

“Down the hallway and to the right.”

We heard loud, echoing laughter in the hallway. When we came to the entrance to the café, I understood why. A huge crowd of nightcrawlers (the people, not the worms) had the same idea. Every seat in the café was filled with a loudly chattering person.

“Damn.” I sighed. “I’m sorry, Alex.”

“Don’t be.”

“Now what?”

“You said you were staying here, right?”

“Uh, huh.”

“Why not go up to your room?”

“What?”

It was the perfect idea – except for the fact that we’d just met two hours ago.

“Yeah. It’ll be more quiet. And I have so much more to show you.”

I wanted to see all that Alex wanted to show.

He was young. He was sweet. He was safe. I knew that.

“Okay. But let someone at your place know. Tell them exactly where you are, and who I am.” That was for _his_ peace of mind.

“Okay. I’ll text my parents and brother.”

As he did, I noticed the hotel’s gift shop, which sold snacks and sundries.

“Hmmm.” I touched his arm. “Do you want something to eat or drink?”

“Maybe.” He put his phone back into his jacket. “Let’s check it out.”

We went inside. I picked up a bag of Smartfood popcorn, one of my favorite treats.

“How about this?”

“Eh. White cheddar.” He put his hand on his belly. “I’m lactose intolerant. I eat that, and I’ll fart farts than can melt paint and peel wallpaper.”

“Okay.” I giggled at the image his words put in my mind, and I chose another flavor. “Is sea salt okay?”

“It’s great.” He gave me a thumbs-up.

I bought the popcorn and a large bottle of water. I walked out of the gift shop towards the elevators. Suddenly, I realized that Alex wasn’t following me.

I turned my head. I saw him in the gift shop, buying items of his own. He laughed with the cashier, then put whatever he had bought into his jacket pocket.

“What did you get?” I asked him.

“Mints.” He smiled. “To defunk the breath.”

He didn’t need to, but the gesture touched me just the same.

* * *

I unlocked the door to my room. It was simple and neat, if a little old-fashioned: a queen-size brass bed with a pale pink quilted comforter, a table and two chairs made from dark-stained wood which would have been right at home in the 1890s, white wallpaper with repeating gray fleur-de-lis, and long curtains hanging from a brass pole over the single window. The modernities included a flat-screen TV, a multi-plug to charge devices, and a miniature refrigerator, in which I promptly put the water bottle.

“Wow.” Alex closed the door behind us. “Nice crib.”

A bottle of pinot noir, three-fourths full, sat on the table. I had bought it last night from the gift shop because I couldn’t sleep. It didn’t work – maybe because I only had one glass.

The maid had come, so there were two clean glasses on the table now, covered with paper doilies.

“Alex – ”

_Hold on. He’s only nineteen. If you let him have wine, you’re breaking the law._

_But it would be inhospitable not to ask. And what are the odds that he’s never had alcohol in his life? He can always say no._

“Um, would you like a glass of wine?”

He picked up the bottle and read the label.

“I’ve never had this before,” he said. “Sure.”

I smiled and filled the two glasses with wine. They were short tumblers instead of real wine glasses, but at least they were not plastic. I gave Alex one of the glasses.

“To creativity,” I said.

“To reaching into our bodies, taking out our bones, and rearranging them into something new and beautiful to show the world.”

_Wow. He is amazing._

We clinked our glasses together and drank. The pinot noir warmed me immediately, as it always did. But now I was looking into Alex’s eyes, and he too was intoxicating me.

_Show me what you know, Alex. I will follow you everywhere._

He put his drink on the table so he could take off his leather jacket and hang it on the back of one of the chairs. I did the same to my own, a red nylon windbreaker with a hoodie lined with fake black fur. We removed our wet boots. I put my laptop bag on the table.

“Let’s continue our creative salon.” I took my laptop out as we sat down. Alex rested his cheek into his curled hand. I noticed the thin dark hairs on his forearm. He was so young, yet he had crossed the line into manhood. It was okay for me to want to feel those hairs against my own arms.

“Have you heard of a site called Soundation?” he asked.

“No.”

“It’s so awesome. You can make music, mix it, and save it. I don’t have an instrument with me, so it’s the only way to let you hear the song I wrote a few days ago.”

“Wow.”

“You’re going to be the third person in the world to hear this song, after me and my brother.”

Alex found the Soundation site. At the bottom of the screen was the image of a keyboard.

“Is your laptop touchscreen?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

He turned up the laptop’s volume, put his fingers on the “keyboard,” and started playing a slow, gentle melody.

“I met a girl on Friday / I loved her on Saturday / I lost her on Sunday / Monday, you’re dead to me...”

His voice was light and airy, like a boy’s. The lyrics bit down hard until my soul bled. These were the words of a man howling in rage and heartbreak. The dissonance between voice and lyrics made this song unforgettable.

I wiped a tear from my eye as Alex played the last mournful note.

“Wow. _Wow._ ” I clapped my hands. “Thank you for sharing this with me, Alex.”

“No problem.”

“Is this a true story?”

“Sort of.” His cheeks turned pink.

“Did you ever find the lost girl?”

Alex answered by looking into my eyes and smiling.

“Stay tuned.”

_Oh, God. Oh, God, I want to be the girl that he finds next. Oh, God, I want to kiss him right fucking now._

I cleared my throat.

“Alex...I have a question for you.”

“Sure.”

“What if...what if I wanted something? What if I wanted it so, so much? What if the only person who could give me what I want was in the same room with me? Do you think I should ask?”

“Of course you should fucking ask. How else would they know?”

“Alex...can I...”

I closed my eyes, not feigning demureness.

“...can I kiss you?”

He grinned, and it was as if a thousand candles lit up in the small space of the room.

“Go for it.”

I leaned close to him, then opened my eyes so I could look into his. When our lips touched, my arms shivered and my toes curled. Alex took my shoulder and brought me closer.

It was a long time, too long, since I’d had a first kiss, a kiss that made me feel precious and new, like a land waiting to be discovered. It was fitting that I shared this kiss with someone who was also, as far as the world was concerned, precious and new.

When our lips parted, we were both as breathless as if we had taken a run down the street.

“I’ve gotta get more of that.” His index finger stroked my arm. “Wanna make out?”

My heart trembled.

“Sure.”

“You can get more comfortable if you take these off.” He stroked the cotton fabric of my black leggings.

“Okay, Alex.” I blushed. “I’ll be right back.”

I got off the bed and retreated into the bathroom. I pushed down my leggings and hung them on the hook on the door. I reached behind me and unhooked my bra beneath my shirt.

Now I was only wearing a white V-neck T-shirt and black microfiber bikini panties. The bra I had taken off had been beige, but Alex didn’t need to know that.

When I came out of the bathroom, Alex lay on his side on the bed, facing me, smiling. He had taken off his pants too, revealing the dark gray plaid boxer shorts beneath.

I crossed my arms over my belly, hiding it. Now, I couldn’t realistically call myself fat, but I did have a body too soft and round to be fashionable. Alex had a lean, narrow body, the thin layer of his skin showing off the young muscle beneath. I could not see an ounce of excess flesh.

Facing this perfect body brought the flaws of my own to the forefront.

“Move those arms.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Move your arms, so I can see you.”

I did as he asked.

“Why are you so shy about your body?”

I lifted my shoulders. “Ummmm...”

“I told you I wanted to make out with you. That means all of you. I wanna see everything.”

I crawled into bed next to him. Alex’s eyes widened in welcome.

“Thank you.” His hand touched down upon my hip. “Never underestimate how beautiful you are. Everything you are, I want to get close to.”

He curled his hand around the back of my neck and pulled me to him. His lips melted into mine. I reached up to stroke his cheek. We snuggled closer to each other, feeling each other’s heat like the mammals we were

It was so nice, so deliciously aimless. Just lying in a bed with a boy, in T-shirts and underpants, kissing and touching each other as if it were the only thing to do. As if we could do nothing else.

We couldn’t.

Alex’s Adam’s apple rose and fell as his lips covered my mouth. His tongue peeked out, licking my lips, unlocking them. My tongue rose to meet his, and they played together like two toddlers who had known nothing but delight. I licked his stubble, and then his mole, which made him giggle.

My fingers stroked his forearms. His skin was soft, as it should be because he was young. The muscle beneath was firm, because he was young.

The bodies of young men were at the peak of their beauty and power. Their minds, not always so. But Alex was an exception.

_If he’s this great at nineteen, how is he going to be in his twenties? In his thirties?_

_If I can’t be by his side as he grows, I’m going to die!_

_Patience._

_Worrying about tragedies that haven’t happened yet is like stabbing yourself in the heart with a rusty butter knife. Stay in this here and now. Here and now feels good._

_Especially when here and now is Alex._

Slowly, so slowly it happened before we knew it, he rolled over on top of me. Our breathing became heavier, our hands explored with abandon. My breasts swelled, and my legs slipped open to let him get even closer.

_I want him. I want him. I want him all the way._

He pulled his lips away from mine. A thread of spit extended, then broke between us.

“Wow.”

“Wow.”

“I have a feeling this is going beyond third base.”

My hand slipped down from his forearm and latched on to the fleshiness of a buttock.

“Me, too.”

Then I remembered what I lacked, and the bubble of pleasure burst.

“Oh, shit,” I muttered.

“What?”

“I don’t have...”

I hesitated.

_Come on. If you’re old enough for what you want to do with him, you’re old enough to say the word._

“...condoms.”

Alex got out of bed and put his hand in his jacket pocket. He took out a small box of Altoids...and a three-pack of Trojan BareSkin condoms.

“Did you know I had future vision?”

I giggled in relief and joy.

“Come here, you.”

I extended my arms to him. Still holding onto the condoms, he entered my embrace.

“When I looked at you, I knew that something might happen. I’m so glad it’s sooner rather than later.”

“I can’t even imagine ‘too soon’ with you, Alex.”

We kissed, then he opened the little box and fanned the condoms on the bedside table.

“You don’t have candles, do you?”

“No.” I packed for a writing retreat, not a romantic idyll.

“No matter.”

Alex turned off the bedside lamp, then got out of bed to turn off the overhead light. He opened the curtain so that the city lights, filtered by the weeping rain, could come through.

“These will be our candles.” He waved his arms like a magician.

I reached my hand out. He grasped it, and I tugged him back into bed. He fell upon me, and we kissed each other hard, hungrily, the way old-time Hollywood movies showed as an allusion to sex.

Alex and I wouldn’t stop at allusion.

He reached for the edge of my T-shirt and pulled it off over my head. My self-consciousness faded like magenta ink in sunlight, so I was not afraid to let him see my naked breasts.

I had nothing to fear. He suckled my nipples, cradled my breasts as if they were rare and exotic fruits.

I tugged his Velvet Underground shirt off, too – carefully, because the fabric was thin. His torso was so young, so lean; fine dark silky hairs dusted his pectorals and circled his nipples and streamed down his navel into his boxers. I made it a point to touch each and every one of those hairs with fingers or tongue. They smelled like cotton and sweat and horniness. His muscles tensed in the places where I discovered him, and it only spurred me to do it more.

My hand found the hard length underneath the fluffy flannel of his boxers. Just touching it sent shudders down my arm.

How long, too long, had it been since I’d touched a man that I truly needed, not just sort-of-wanted?

_I want him in me._

He let out a closed-mouthed grunt and reached for my panties. I lifted my legs so he could pull them down. He then brought down his boxers faster than anyone could say, “Fuck.”

Now, we were naked in front of each other. Alex’s erection snuggled up to my belly, leaving a moist streak. His fingers crept down my body like the tiny feet of new kittens. The tender things got into my crease, and I gasped.

He slid his fingers into me, first one, then two, then three, priming the pump. I craved all of them.

I reached for his erection, a velvet rod with a steel core.

“Holy Jesus fuck,” he moaned.

I looked up into the eyes of a man who, at this moment, wanted me more than anyone else was wanted in this world.

“If I don’t put it in you now, I’m going to explode.”

He grabbed one of the condoms and tore the wrapper open with his teeth. His hands shook as he tried to roll the condom on himself. When it was fully rolled up, I took his penis in my hand and led it to the right place.

“Oh, yeah,” he purred. “Oh, _yeahhhh_.”

When he penetrated me, a wave of _mmmm_ filled my center and flooded my whole body. I wrapped my arms and legs around him joyfully.

Alex was the answer to the question I didn’t know I had asked.

He thrust hard and fast, the way it had to be when a man had a woman in his arms that he needed as much as he needed air. And vice versa.

It couldn’t be an elaborately choreographed dance of angels. It had to be the collision of two human bodies in thrall to the biology that kept our race going for millennia.

It was Alex fucking me, and fucking me hard.

It was me taking every inch like a greedy baby bird craving the worm.

“Give it to me, Alex,” I urged. “Give it _good_.”

Grammar wasn’t the highest priority right now.

“Oh fuck yeah, I’m gonna give it good.”

Lovemaking this intense wasn’t made to last, and it didn’t. When his time came, Alex pushed himself in deep and poured into me. His groans were a majestic melody to my ears.

He gave it _gooood_.

When it was done, though, he shook his head.

“Shit. I’m sorry. That couldn’t have lasted more than two minutes.” He frowned. “It’s been a while since I busted a nut, even with Miss Right.” He wiggled the fingers of “Miss Right.”

“Don’t be.” I stroked the hairs that curled around his right ear. “It was what we both needed.”

“But did you come?”

“No, but – ”

“I’m gonna make sure you do.”

Alex got out of bed and opened the refrigerator. He found the bottle of water I’d bought at the gift shop earlier. He unscrewed the cap and poured some into each of the glasses. He handed one to me.

“Thanks, Alex.”

“Thanks for buying this. Imagine having to go downstairs right now.”

He looked down at himself. He’d forgotten to take off the condom.

“Like right now.”

I giggled. He palmed it, slid it off his penis, and dropped it in the wastebasket. He walked to the edge of the bed and slid down, like an otter, until his face was about an inch from my crotch.

“Wow-wee-wow-wow. Look at this pretty butterfly.” His fingers opened my labia.

“It probably smells like latex and Trojan lube down there,” I admitted.

“I smell nothing but hot, sexy _girl_.”

His breath brushed against that tender skin, tempting me.

“Ummm...” Reluctantly, I pulled back. “I think...mouth play is advanced lovemaking.”

“Oh?”

“You know...exchanging lower body fluids?”

“You wanna wait for that?”

“I’d feel better if we did.”

_He asked me if we could wait. That means we could do it later. Yum._

“Okay. But I’m still gonna make you come.”

He put his hand on his chin in a thinking gesture.

“Hmmm...”

Suddenly, his eyebrows reached for the sky. I could almost see the lightbulb appear above his head.

“I’ve got it.”

He got up and walked into the bathroom...and came back with a washcloth draped over his semi-erect penis.

“I humbly apologize that whoever designed the human male body has given him a dick that is unfortunately incapable of vibrating. But the human male brain is fortunately capable of innovation, and the human male dick wrapped in terrycloth can work magic.”

“Ooooh.” I shivered in delight.

He smiled, then wrapped the cloth around his penis and got back into bed. He crawled on top of me, and then –

He worked his magic.

His terrycloth-wrapped penis. Stroking the most arousable part of me. Again and again and again.

“Oh...that tickles! But in a good way.”

“D’ya like it?”

“Yes!”

I leaned up into his penis, opening my legs wider, until the moment of magic finally arrived. _Ahhhh_. It was the best orgasm I’d had in years, ever since the boy I loved in my junior year of college went down on me on a rainy night while listening to Tchaikovsky’s _Swan Lake_.

What Alex did felt much, much better. It was the man just as much as the act. Looking into his beautiful face as I came was a double sexual feast.

“Oh, yes,” he murmured. “Oh, yessss. I knew it would work.”

“Thanks, Alex. You should write about that in _Popular Mechanics_.”

“Nah.” He smiled. “This is something dudes need to figure out on their own.”

I wrapped my arms around him and brought him down for a well-deserved kiss.

“Hey.” He took told of his wrapped penis. “It also got me back up again.”

“Mmmm. Gimme, gimme.”

“I’m gonna do it differently this time. I know a dope trick. A trick my brother taught me.” He smirked. “Don’t worry, just with words. It’s called the Rock and Roll.”

The Rock and Roll was deceptively simple. After putting a pillow under my butt, Alex got on top of me and slid his penis back in (wearing a fresh condom). Instead of thrusting up and down like he did the first time, he ground his hips into mine in a circular motion, his pubic hair coming into direct contact with my bud.

Slow. So slow. So good.

The first time was an explosion, the spark of lust meeting the powder of desire. Now it was time to get to know each other like the devout knew their holy book.

He found out that I giggled and squeaked when I was enjoying sex – two sounds that almost never erupted in typical porn films. I was afraid to ask him what he thought, because of course a man of his age had gotten hard to porn at some point in his life – but his smile was all the answer I needed.

As for him, his go-to sound was humming. Deep, resonant humming. “It’s my concentration sound,” he explained. “Even when I’m thinking, there’s music in it.”

“And what are you thinking about right now?”

“I’m thinking that once upon a time, I was the sperm that beat out millions to cross the finish line. I often wonder why it was me. Now I know – so I could walk my path for nineteen years to end up in a hotel room on the twelfth floor above Sixth Street, at – ” He glanced at the red glow of the digital clock. “ – two-fifteen in the morning, rocking and rolling the most beautiful girl in the world.”

Everything in me melted. No one, not even the boy who’d gone down on me to _Swan Lake_ , had ever said anything as precious to me.

I held on to Alex tighter. His back was slick underneath my hands. He was sweaty, a testament to the work he was putting in, but he did not stink. He had the good funk on him, the good funk that even the best writers found hard to describe, except to say that it was sexier than any perfume created by human hands.

All that rocking and rolling got to me. My hips rose up to meet his as I came, increasing the friction, finally bringing forth the groans.

“Oh, Alex.” His hardness moving within me during my orgasm turned a good feeling into ecstasy almost too much to bear. My fingers gripped the pillow beneath my head as I howled Alex’s name. He pushed me to climax over and over again, like a chain of bright red roses.

When I could come no more, I sank into the pillows and mattress.

“Alex, I need just one more thing,” I gasped.

“What?”

“Knowing...that I...pleased you.”

“You got it.”

He segued from rocking and rolling to thrusting up and down. Hard. _Harder_. I opened wide to capture every inch.

“You’re so good, girl...so gooood...ahhhh... _fuck_!”

He pushed in deep, several times, and then fell upon me, panting, sweating, satisfied. His body made the best-ever blanket.

Then, he rolled off of me. He lifted his right hand toward the window. He brought his thumb and index finger together, as if he were plucking something from the sky. Then, he turned back to me and placed the invisible object in the space just above my breasts.

“If I actually brought a star down from the sky to give to you, we’d all be so fucked,” he admitted. “But if it were possible, and I could shrink it to a size that can fit on a necklace, I’d do it.”

Alex mimed threading the “star” onto a necklace and hooking it around my neck. I mimed holding it in my hands.

“No girl has ever received a more precious gift,” I murmured, “except for the boy who gave it.”

 He pulled the quilt up over us until it came up to our ears. We turned towards each other, curling up like two embryos in the womb, our knees and toes touching, our arms draped over each other.

It was the best sleep I’d had since childhood, when I knew I was safe and not alone. But now, I also felt the aftershocks of our lovemaking thrumming in my core. I had been filled, completely, for a longer time than I ever imagined possible. I had been filled, because I had been wanted.

_I had been wanted._

I hoped Alex knew how much I had wanted him.

* * *

I woke up to the sight of Alex’s fingers lifting my hair off my face. I opened my eyes to find him smiling at me, bathed in the blue light that came just before dawn. The rain had stopped.

“Good almost morning,” he whispered.

“Good almost morning to you.”

He leaned in to kiss me on the lips, pushing down the quilt so we could see each other better. I grasped his tight little butt and pulled his body close to mine. His hands stroked my hips and waist and crept back up on my breasts. We were such eager little beavers.

He reached for the one remaining condom. I put it on him, then held on to his penis and led it into me.

The first time was a frenzied punk anthem. The second time was a mammoth classic rock jam. This third time was sweet soul music with swirls of organ and wails of horns and unbridled screams of ecstasy. Neither quick nor slow, just us indulging in each other, as lovers did.

And yes, now we were lovers.

_This is a real love story. It will be real if this is the only night we have together. It will be real if this is just the start of thousands._

_I will never forget this. I will never regret this._

He came into me for the third time as the sun’s light poured down the streets.

We lay together, two chambers of one beating heart.

 “The best nights end at dawn,” he breathed into my neck.

* * *

“Hey...hey.”

A hand stroked my cheek softly. I opened my eyes. Alex stood above me, holding his boxers.

“I’m sorry, but I gotta go home now. I’m going on an East Coast concert tour with my brother, and I need to be on the bus at five.”

Too soon, too soon.

But what I said was, “Okay. Sounds fun.”

“Well, the fun part happens on stage. The rest is hard-ass bus seats, convenience store food, and my brother’s snarting. That’s snoring and farting at the same time.”

I laughed. “Can I use that word, if needed?”

“You can use anything.”

He stepped into his boxers and slowly pulled them up to his knees. He paused, his eyes meeting mine. My smile told him what I wanted. He slowly turned around as he pulled his boxers up, playfully wiggling his butt and now-dangling penis.

I sat up in bed, paying him back with my bare breasts. He leaned over and kissed each of them.

“I’m gobbling up eye acorns to store in my brain so I can chow down on them when it gets lonely on the road...”

He picked up his jeans from the floor and put them on. He looked around for his Velvet Underground shirt.

“Here.” I found it between the sheets and handed it to him.

“Thanks.” He slipped it over his torso, slowly to give my eye acorns of my own. Then, he reached into his jacket – still draped on the back of a chair – and pulled out his iPhone.

“We gotta exchange numbers. I want an update on that screenplay.”

_Screenplay?_

_Oh...yes._

“Sure.” I got out of bed and found my own phone in my messenger bag. (Alex gathered even more eye acorns as I bent over, naked.) He gave me his number, I gave him mine, and we programmed each other as contacts.

“Let me take a picture of you. But not naked. There be bad dudes in the cloud.”

I pulled the sheet off the bed and wrapped it around my body like a toga. Alex took my picture.

“Now one for you.”

I took a picture of him. He lifted his shirt with one hand to reveal his navel.

“All right.” He put on his jacket and tucked his phone in the pocket. He walked back toward me, his eyes gazing toward the floor, shyly. Mine did, too. After all we had done last night, we needed to take a step back into modesty.

His eyes shone like two stars. Like the “star” he had given to me.

“Thank you, Alex.” I lifted my head, taking him all in, and embraced him. He kissed me on the neck, on the ear, and on the lips.

“Thank you.” He smiled. “Sometimes, you can’t really see yourself until you look into the eyes of someone who adores you.”

“Enjoy your tour, and be safe.”

“You be safe, too – and don’t forget to send me the screenplay!”

He opened the door and walked down the hallway. I stuck my head out and watched him head toward the elevator. Before he got in, he turned toward me and gave me the peace sign. I did the same.

Then, I closed the door, fell back into bed, and slept the sleep of a happy, cherished woman. But not before I whispered his name, each letter falling from my mouth as sweet as candies.

* * *

I woke up around three p.m.

I took a shower, put on clean clothes, put on my jacket and my messenger bag and stepped out into a whole new sunny day. I took the elevator down to the hotel café, less crowded at this unorthodox dining hour, where I had English breakfast tea and a plain toasted bagel smeared with cream cheese. As I ate, I just sat and thought. And thought some more.

When I left the café, I walked straight back to the coffee shop. I ordered a medium flat white (this place was so hip that “medium” meant exactly that), sat down at the big table, opened my laptop, pressed the “on” button, and found Word.

The plain white page popped up again. But today, it wasn’t a dead end. It was a beginning.

I could write the love scene now. I could write it, because I had just lived it.

_Thank you, Alex._

I imagined the spaceship, the woman pilot and her black-haired, black-eyed almost lover. (But now, his hair and eyebrows were thicker than they were yesterday.) I saw the viewscreen as the ship passed the stars, on autopilot because the couple was in the back, about to lie down on a folding futon.

_“Did you ever find the girl?” she asked him._

_The corners of his lips turned up inscrutably._

_“Stay tuned.”_

I reached into the hours before and plucked down phrases as easily as picking apples.

_Never underestimate how beautiful you are. Everything you are, I want to get close to._

_I have a feeling this is going beyond third base._

_If I don’t put it in you now, I’m going to explode._

_These will be our candles._

_Even when I’m thinking, there’s music in it._

_No woman has ever received a more precious gift...except for the man who gave it._

_The best nights end at dawn._ (I knew there was no “dawn” in space, but that just _had_ to be in there.)

I finished the love scene before I finished the coffee. The final words came from the female character: “Sometimes, you can’t really see yourself until you look into the eyes of someone who adores you.”

I saved the Word doc, then reached for my phone. I pushed aside all of my conditioning about not contacting guys first and sent a brief text to Alex.

_Hey, Alex. I finished the screenplay #missionaccomplished. Thanks for the inspiration!_

Seconds later, I heard the incoming message chime on my phone.

_Congratulations! I knew you could do it!_

_Thanks. Now comes the hard part – Colin’s judgment._

_If this dude has one rational brain cell, he’s gonna love it._

I sent him a single smiley face. The Velveeta cheese of emojis. But hey, sometimes cheese was the best.

_When are you going back to Hudson?_

_Tomorrow morning. It may sound weird, but I’m actually looking forward to it. The train ride is awesome._

I quickly added:

_Not that NYC didn’t have its charms..._

_I loved the time I spent with you (four red hearts)_

OMG. Four hearts. Four red hearts.

What did that mean?

He liked me. He liked me a lot.

Damn.

 _So did I. I’m so glad you came into *that* coffee shop, *that* night._ I added four pink hearts at the end, because he’d awakened the playful girl inside of me.

Pink as the lips that had kissed mine. Pink as the erection that had...well, it had kissed me, too.

Alex sent back a kissy emoji.

I giggled, and I didn’t care that everyone in the whole coffee shop could hear.

_I’ll be back from our tour in six weeks. Then, I’ll be off for a while before I start filming my next movie._

_Okay._ The tiny hairs on my arms rose in anticipation.

_Want me to come up to Hudson?_

What?

I’d thought he’d invite me to come back down to New York, but...

_Yes!_

_My family knows a couple who lives there. They’re going to Europe for a summerlong vacation. I think I can house-sit for them – with your help, of course..._

_I’d be honored._

_I know you finished your screenplay. But let’s see if we can write some more love scenes._

_“Let’s see?” Alex, we’re going to write the very best._

* * *

Six weeks passed by. Six anxious weeks where, in between the sustenance of our trading texts and photos, I tried to distract myself with writing and reading and watching indie movies. Sometimes I succeeded, sometimes I let myself wish for Alex, ache for him, with my fingers standing in for his body.

I sent Colin the finished screenplay. He responded with one word: _Superb._

And then, underneath a purple evening sky, I met Alex at the Hudson train station. He brought a guitar and a blue duffel bag and his smile and his sweet lovely goodness.

At his parents’ friends’ house, we wrote. We wrote on my laptop, we wrote on his guitar, we wrote in the breakfast nook over French press coffee and croissants from a bakery close enough to walk to, we wrote at the dining table with bowls of pasta and bottles of wine, we wrote in the bedroom with our bodies and our souls and all that we had to give.

Was it art? Was it love? Was it both?

It was everything Alex and I needed it to be.

It was everything that made life worth living.

It was everything.


End file.
